University  of  California  •  Berkeley 


MAUDE:   Prose  &  Verse 


MAUDE:   Prose  ^f  Verse 
by  Christina  Rossetti;  1850 


CHICAGO 
MDCCCXC 
VII 


HERBERT  S. 
STONE  &  COM 
PANY 


COPYRIGHT.     1897,     BY 
HERBERT  S.  STONE  &  CO. 


Prefatory  Note 

THIS  "Tale  for  Girls"  (as 
I  should  be  disposed  to 
call  it)  was  written  out  by 
Christina  Rossetti,  with  her  usual 
excessive  neatness  of  caligraphy,  in 
1850.  I  suppose  it  may  have  been 
composed  in  that  year,  or  a  year  or 
two  earlier.  In  1850,  up  to  the  5th 
December,  she  was  nineteen  years 
of  age.  Of  the  rather  numerous 
poems  interspersed  in  the  tale, 
all  save  two  have,  I  think,  been  pub 
lished  ere  now.  They  were  all 
written  without  any  intention  of  in 
serting  them  in  any  tale — except  only 


PREFATORY  NOTE 


the  first  two  in  the  trio  bouts-rimes 
sonnets.  The  MS.  of  the  tale 
presents  a  few  slight  revisions,  made 
at  some  much  later  date — perhaps 
about  1870,  or  1875. 

I  daresay  that  Christina  may,  tow 
ards  1850,  have  offered  the  tale  here 
or  there  for  publication,  but  have  no 
particular  recollection  as  to  that  point. 
In  now  at  last  publishing  it,  I  am 
not  under  any  misapprehension  re 
garding  the  degree  of  merit  which  it 
possesses.  I  allow  it  to  be  in  all 
senses  a  juvenile  performance  ;  but  I 
think  it  is  agreeably  written,  and  not 
without  touches  of  genuine  percep 
tion  and  discernment.  Most  of  the 
poems  I  rate  high.  The  literary  rep 
utation  of  Christina  Rossetti  is  now 


PREFATORY  NOTE 


sufficiently  established  to  make  what 
she  wrote  interesting  to  many  per 
sons — if  not  for  the  writing's  own 
sake,  then  for  the  writer's.  As  such,  I 
feel  no  qualms  in  giving  publicity  to 
Maude. 

It  appears  to  me  that  my  sister's 
main  object  in  delineating  Maude  was 
to  exhibit  what  she  regarded  as  defects 
in  her  own  character,  and  in  her 
attitude  towards  her  social  circle  and 
her  religious  obligations.  Maude's 
constantly  weak  health  is  also  sus 
ceptible  of  a  personal  reference,  no 
doubt  intentional :  even  so  minor  a 
point  as  her  designing  the  pattern  of 
a  sofa-pillow  might  apply  to  Christina 
herself.  Maude  is  made  the  subject  of 
many  unfavourable  comments,  from 


PREFATORY  NOTE 


herself  and  from  her  strict-minded 
authoress.  The  worst  harm  she  ap 
pears  to  have  done  is,  that  when  she 
had  written  a  good  poem,  she  felt  it 
to  be  good.  She  was  also  guilty  of  the 
grave  sin  of  preferring  to  forego  the 
receiving  of  the  eucharist  when  she 
supposed  herself  to  be  unworthy  of 
it;  and  further,  of  attending  the  musi 
cal  services  at  St.  Andrew's  Church 
(Wells  Street,  Oxford  Street),  in 
stead  of  invariably  frequenting  her 
parish  church.  If  some  readers 
opine  that  all  this  shows  Christina 
Rossetti's  mind  to  have  been  at  that 
date  overburdened  with  conscientious 
scruples  of  an  extreme  and  even  a 
wire-drawn  kind,  I  share  their  opin 
ion.  One  can  trace  in  this  tale  that 


PREFATORY  NOTE 


she  was  already  an  adherent  of  the 
advanced  High  Church  party  in  the 
Anglican  communion,  including  con 
ventual  sisterhoods.  So  far  as  my 
own  views  of  right  and  wrong  go,  I 
cannot  see  that  the  much-reprehended 
Maude  commits  a  single  serious  fault 
from  title-page  to  finis. 

I  fancy  that  Agnes  and  Mary 
Clifton  may  be,  to  some  extent, 
limned  from  two  young  ladies,  Alicia 
and  Priscilla  Townsend,  whom  my 
sister  knew  and  liked  in  those  years. 
The  whole  family  emigrated — per 
haps  a  year  or  two  prior  to  1850 — 
to  Canterbury  Settlement,  New 
Zealand.  Some  surnames  intro 
duced  into  the  tale — such  as  Hunt, 
Deverall,  and  Potter — were  highly 


PREFATORY  NOTE 


familiar  in  our  household.  Towards 
the  close  is  a  sentence,  u  The  lock 
ed  book  she  never  opened,  but  had  it 
placed  in  Maude's  coffin  "  ;  which 
is  curious,  as  an  unconscious  pre- 
figurement  of  a  well-known  and 
much-discussed  incident  in  the  life  of 
Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti. 

With  these  few  remarks  I  commit 
Maude  to  the  reader.  For  its  prose 
the  u  indulgent  reader  "  (as  our  great 
grandfathers  used  to  phrase  it)  may 
be  in  requisition;  for  its  verse  the 
u  discreet  "  reader  will  suffice. 

W.   M.  ROSSETTI. 
LONDON,  November,  1896. 


Maude 


A 


Part   I 
I 

«  A  PENNY  for  your 
thoughts, "  said  Mrs. 
Foster,  one  bright  July 
morning,  as  she  entered  the  sitting- 
room,  with  a  bunch  of  roses  in  her 
hand,  and  an  open  letter :  "  A 
penny  for  your  thoughts,"  said  she, 
addressing  her  daughter,  who,  sur 
rounded  by  a  chaos  of  stationery,  was 
slipping  out  of  sight  some  scrawled 
paper.  This  observation  remaining 
unanswered,  the  mother,  only  too 
much  accustomed  to  inattention,  con- 
7 


8  MAUDE 


tinued:  "  Here  is  a  note  from  your 
Aunt  Letty;  she  wants  us  to  go  and 
pass  a  few  days  with  them.  You 
know,  Tuesday  is  Mary's  birthday, 
so  they  mean  to  have  some  young 
people,  and  cannot  dispense  with  your 
company." 

"  Do  you  think  of  going  ?  "  said 
Maude  at  last,  having  locked  her 
writing-book. 

"  Yes,  dear ;  even  a  short  stay  in 
the  country  may  do  you  good,  you 
have  looked  so  pale  lately.  Do  n't 
you  feel  quite  well?  tell  me." 

u  Oh  yes';  there  is  not  much  the 
matter,  only  I  am  tired  and  have  a 
headache.  Indeed  there  is  nothing 
at  all  the  matter;  besides,  the  country 
may  work  wonders." 


MAUDE 


Half  satisfied,  half  uneasy,  Mrs. 
Foster  asked  a  few  more  questions, 
to  have  them  all  answered  in  the 
same  style :  vain  questions,  put  to 
one  who,  without  telling  lies,  was 
determined  not  to  tell  the  truth. 

When  once  more  alone,  Maude 
resumed  the  occupation  which  her 
mother's  entrance  had  interrupted. 
Her  writing-book  was  neither  com 
monplace-book,  album,  scrap-book, 
nor  diary;  it  was  a  compound  of  all 
these,  and  contained  original  compo 
sitions  not  intended  for  the  public 
eye,  pet  extracts,  extraordinary  little 
sketches,  and  occasional  tracts  of 
journal.  This  choice  collection  she 
now  proceeded  to  enrich  with  the 
following  sonnet : 


io  MAUDE 


Yes,  I  too  could  face  death  and  never 

shrink: 

But  it  is  harder  to  bear  hated  life; 
To  strive  with  hands  and  knees  weary  of 

strife; 
To  drag  the  heavy  chain  whose  every 

link 
Galls  to  the  bone;  to   stand  upon  the 

brink 
Of  the  deep  grave,  nor  drowse,  though 

it  be  rife 
With  sleep;   to   hold   with  steady   hand 

the  knife, 
Nor  strike  home :   this  is  courage,  as  I 

think. 

Surely  to  suffer  is  more  than  to  do: 
To  do  is  quickly  done;  to  suffer  is 
Longer  and   fuller  of  heart-sicknesses; 
Each  day's  experience  testifies  of  this: 
Good  deeds  are  many,  but  good  lives  are 

few; 

Thousands   taste   the    full    cup ;    who 
drains  the  lees? 


MAUDE  1 1 


having  done  which  she  yawned, 
leaned  back  in  her  chair,  and  won 
dered  how  she  should  fill  the  time  till 
dinner. 

Maude  Foster  was  just  fifteen. 
Small,  though  not  positively  short, 
she  might  easily  be  overlooked, 
but  would  not  easily  be  forgotten. 
Her  figure  was  slight  and  well-made, 
but  appeared  almost  high-shouldered 
through  a  habitual  shrugging  stoop. 
Her  features  were  regular  and  pleas 
ing;  as  a  child  she  had  been  very 
pretty,  and  might  have  continued  so 
but  for  a  fixed  paleness,  and  an  ex 
pression,  not  exactly  of  pain,  but 
languid  and  preoccupied  to  a  painful 
degree.  Yet  even  now  if  at  any 
time  she  became  thoroughly  aroused 


12  MAUDE 


and  interested,  her  sleepy  eyes  would 
light  up  with  wonderful  brilliancy, 
her  cheeks  glow  with  warm  colour, 
her  manner  become  animated,  and 
drawing  herself  up  to  her  full  height, 
she  would  look  more  beautiful  than 
ever  she  did  as  a  child.  So  Mrs. 
Foster  said,  and  so  unhappily  Maude 
knew.  She  also  knew  that  people 
thought  her  clever,  and  that  her  little 
copies  of  verses  were  handed  about 
and  admired.  Touching  these  same 
verses,  it  was  the  amazement  of  every 
one  what  could  make  her  poetry  so 
broken-hearted,  as  was  mostly  the 
case.  Some  pronounced  that  she 
wrote  very  foolishly  about  things  she 
could  not  possibly  understand;  some 
wondered  if  she  really  had  any  secret 


MAUDE  ,  13 


source  of  uneasiness;  while  some 
simply  set  her  down  as  affected. 
Perhaps  there  was  a  degree  of  truth 
in  all  these  opinions.  But  I  have 
said  enough:  the  following  pages 
will  enable  my  readers  to  form  their 
own  estimate  of  Maude's  character. 
Meanwhile  let  me  transport  them 
to  another  sitting-room;  but  this  time 
it  will  be  in  the  country,  with  a  de 
lightful  garden  look-out. 

Mary  Clifton  was  arranging  her 
mother's  special  nosegay  when  that 
lady  entered. 

"  Here,  my  dear,  I  will  finish  doing 
the  flowers.  It  is  time  for  you  to  go 
and  meet  your  aunt  and  cousin;  in 
deed,  if  you  do  not  make  haste,  you 
will  be  too  late." 


MAUDE 


u  Thank  you,  mamma;  the  flow 
ers  are  nearly  done";  and  Mary  ran 
out  of  the  room. 

Before  long  she  and  her  sister 
were  hurrying  beneath  a  burning 
sun  towards  the  railway  station. 
Through  having  delayed  their  start 
to  the  very  last  moment,  neither  had 
found  time  to  lay  hands  on  a  parasol; 
but  this  was  little  heeded  by  two 
healthy  girls,  full  of  life  and  spirits, 
and  longing  moreover  to  spy  out 
their  friends.  Mary  wanted  one  day 
of  fifteen;  Agnes  was  almost  a  year 
older:  both  were  well-grown  and 
well-made,  with  fair  hair,  blue  eyes, 
and  fresh  complexions.  So  far  they 
were  alike:  what  differences  existed 
in  other  respects  remains  to  be  seen. 


MAUDE 


"  How  do  you  do,  aunt?  How  do 
you  do,  Maude? "  cried  Mary,  mak 
ing  a  sudden  dart  forward  as  she  dis 
covered  our  friends,  who,  having  left 
the  station,  had  already  made  some 
progress  along  the  dusty  road.  Then 
relinquishing  her  aunt  to  Agnes,  she 
seized  upon  her  cousin,  and  was  soon 
deep  in  the  description  of  all  the 
pleasures  planned  for  the  auspicious 
morrow. 

"We  are  to  do  what  we  like  in 
the  morning:  I  mean,  nothing  par 
ticular  is  arranged;  so  I  shall  initiate 
you  into  all  the  mysteries  of  the  place; 
all  the  cats,  dogs,  rabbits,  pigeons, 
etc.;  above  all  I  must  introduce  you 
to  a  pig,  a  special  protege  of  mine: 
that  is,  if  you  are  inclined,  for  you 


16  MAUDE 


look  wretchedly  pale;  are  n't  you 
well,  dear? " 

"  Oh  yes,  quite  well,  and  you 
must  show  me  everything.  But 
what  are  we  to  do  afterwards?  " 

u  Oh!  afterwards  we  are  to  be 
intensely  grand.  All  our  young 
friends  are  coming  and  we  are  to 
play  at  round  games  (you  were 
always  clever  at  round  games),  and  I 
expect  to  have  great  fun.  Besides, 
I  have  stipulated  for  unlimited  straw 
berries  and  cream;  also,  sundry  tarts 
are  in  course  of  preparation.  By  the 
way,  I  count  on  your  introducing 
some  new  games  among  us  benighted 
rustics;  you  who  come  from  dissi 
pated  London." 

u  I  fear  I  know  nothing  new,  but 


MAUDE  .     1 7 


will  do  my  best.  At  any  rate  I  can 
preside  at  your  toilet  and  assist  in 
making  you  irresistible." 

Mary  coloured  and  laughed;  then 
thought  no  more  of  the  pretty  speech, 
which  sounded  as  if  carefully  pre 
pared  by  her  polite  cousin.  The 
two  made  a  strong  contrast:  one  was 
occupied  by  a  thousand  shifting 
thoughts  of  herself,  her  friends,  her 
plans,  what  she  must  do,  what  she 
would  do;  the  other,  whatever  might 
employ  her  tongue,  and  to  a  certain 
extent  her  mind,  had  always  an 
undercurrent  of  thought  intent  upon 
herself. 

Arrived  at  the  house,  greetings 
were  duly  and  cordially  performed; 
also  an  introduction  to  a  new  and 


i8  MAUDE 


very  fat  baby,  who  received  Maude's 
advances  with  a  howl  of  intense  dis 
may.  The  first  day  of  a  visit  is 
often  no  very  lively  affair;  so  per 
haps  all  parties  heard  the  clock  an 
nounce  bedtime  without  much  regret. 


MAUDE  19 


II 

THE  young  people  were  as 
sembled  in  Mary's  room, 
deep  in  the  mysteries  of 
the  toilet. 

u  Here  is  your  wreath,  Maude; 
you  must  wear  it  for  my  sake,  and 
forgive  a  surreptitious  sprig  of  bay 
which  I  have  introduced,"  said 
Agnes,  adjusting  the  last  white  rose, 
and  looking  affectionately  at  her  sis 
ter  and  cousin. 

Maude  was  arranging  Mary's  long 
fair  hair  with  good-natured  anxiety 
to  display  it  to  the  utmost  advantage. 

"One  more   spray  of  fuchsia;  I 


2O  MAUDE 


was  always  sure  fuchsia  would  make 
a  beautiful  head-dress.  There;  now 
you  are  perfection  :  only  look ;  look 
Agnes.  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon; 
thank  you ;  my  wreath  is  very  nice, 
only  I  have  not  earned  ,the  bay." 
Still  she  did  not  remove  it;  and  when 
placed  on  her  hair  it  well  became  the 
really  intellectual  character  of  her 
face.  Her  dress  was  entirely  white; 
simple  and  elegant.  Neither  she  nor 
Agnes  would  wear  ornaments,  but 
left  them  to  Mary,  in  whose  honour 
the  entertainment  was  given,  and 
who  in  all  other  respects  was  arrayed 
like  her  sister. 

In  the  drawing-room  Mary  pro 
ceeded  to  set  in  order  the  presents 
received  that  morning;  a  handsomely 


MAUDE  21 


bound  Bible  from  her  father,  and  a 
small  prayer-book  with  cross  and 
clasp  from  her  mother;  a  bracelet  of 
Maude's  hair  from  her  aunt ;  a  cor 
nelian  heart  from  Agnes,  and  a 
pocket-bonbonniere  from  her  cousin, 
besides  pretty  trifles  from  her  little 
brothers.  In  the  midst  of  arrange 
ments  and  re-arrangements,  the  ser 
vant  entered  with  a  large  bunch  of 
lilies  from  the  village  school-children, 
and  the  announcement  that  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Savage  were  just  arrived  with 
their  six  daughters. 

Gradually  the  guests  assembled, 
young  and  old,  pretty  and  plain;  all 
alike  seemingly  bent  on  enjoying 
themselves ;  some  with  gifts,  and  all 
with  cordial  greetings  for  Mary;  for 


22  MAUDE 


she  was  a  general  favourite.  There 
was  slim  Rosanna  Hunt,  her  scarf 
arranged  with  artful  negligence  to 
hide  a  slight  protrusion  of  one  shoul 
der;  and  sweet  Magdalen  Ellis  hab 
ited  as  usual  in  quiet  colours.  Then 
came  Jane  and  Alice  Deverall,  twins 
so  much  alike  that  few  besides  their 
parents  knew  them  apart  with  any 
certainty ;  and  their  fair  brother 
Alexis,  who,  had  he  been  a  girl, 
would  have  increased  the  confusion. 
There  was  little  Ellen  Potter,  with  a 
round  rosy  face  like  an  apple,  look 
ing  as  natural  and  good-humoured  as 
if,  instead  of  a  grand  French  govern 
ess,  she  had  had  her  own  parents 
with  her  like  most  of  the  other  chil 
dren  ;  and  then  came  three  rather 


MAUDE  .    23 


haughty-looking  Miss  Stantons ;  and 
pale  Hannah  Lindley,  the  orphan;  and 
Harriet  Eyre,  a  thought  too  showy 
in  her  dress. 

Mary,  all  life  and  spirits,  hastened 
to  introduce  the  new-comers  to 
Maude;  who,  perfectly  unembarrass 
ed,  bowed  and  uttered  little  speeches 
with  the  manner  of  a  practised 
woman  of  the  world;  while  the 
genuine,  unobstrusive  courtesy  of 
Agnes  did  more  towards  making  their 
guests  comfortable  than  the  eager 
good  nature  of  her  sister,  or  the  cor 
rect  breeding  of  her  cousin. 

At  length  the  preliminaries  were 
all  accomplished,  every  one  having 
found  a  seat,  or  being  otherwise 
satisfactorily  disposed  of.  The 


24  MAUDE 


elders  of  the  party  were  grouped 
here  and  there  talking  and  looking 
on  :  the  very  small  children  were  ac 
commodated  in  an  adjoining  apart 
ment  with  a  gigantic  Noah's  ark: 
and  the  rest  of  the  young  people 
being  at  liberty  to  amuse  themselves 
as  fancy  might  prompt,  a  general 
appeal  was  made  to  Miss  Foster  for 
some  game,  novel,  entertaining,  and 
ingenious;  or,  as  some  of  the  more 
diffident  hinted,  easy. 

u  I  really  know  nothing  new, " 
said  Maude :  u  you  must  have  play 
ed  at  Proverbs,  What's  my  thought 
like?  How  do  you  like  it  ?  and  Magic 
music: — or  stay,  there  is  one  thing 
we  can  try: — bouts-rimes." 

«  What  ?  "  asked  Mary. 


MAUDE  25 


u  Bouts-rimes :  it  is  very  easy. 
Some  one  gives  rhymes,  mamma  can 
do  that,  and  then  every  one  fills  them 
up  as  they  think  fit.  A  sonnet  is 
the  best  form  to  select;  but,  if  you 
wish,  we  could  try  eight,  or  even 
four  lines." 

"  But  I  am  certain  I  could  not 
make  a  couplet, "  said  Mary,  laugh 
ing.  "  Of  course  you  would  get  on 
capitally,  and  Agnes  might  manage 
very  well,  and  Magdalen  can  do  any 
thing;  but  it  is  quite  beyond  me:  do 
pray  think  of  something  more  suited 
to  my  capacity." 

u  Indeed  I  have  nothing  else  to 
propose.  This  is  very  much  better 
than  mere  common  games ;  but  if 
you  will  not  try  it,  that  ends  the 


26  MAUDE 


matter":  and  Maude  leaned  back  in 
her  chair. 

"  I  hope  " — began  Mary  ;  but 
Agnes  interposed  : 

"  Suppose  some  of  us  attempt 
bouts-rimes,  and  you  meanwhile  can 
settle  what  we  shall  do  afterwards. 
Who  is  ready  to  test  her  poetical 
powers  ? — What,  no  one  ? — Oh, 
Magdalen,  pray  join  Maude  and  me." 

This  proposal  met  with  universal 
approbation,  and  the  three  girls  re 
treated  to  a  side  table ;  Mary,  who 
supplied  the  rhymes,  exacting  a 
promise  that  only  one  sonnet  should 
be  composed.  Before  the  next  game 
was  fixed  upon,  the  three  following 
productions  were  submitted  for  judg 
ment  to  the  discerning  public.  The 
first  was  by  Agnes. 


MAUDE  27 


Would  that  I  were  a  turnip  white, 
Or  raven  black, 
Or  miserable  hack 

Dragging  a  cab  from  left  to  right; 
Or  would  I  were  the  showman  of  a 

sight, 

Or  weary  donkey  with  a  laden  back, 
Or  racer  in  a  sack, 

Or   freezing   traveller   on  an    Alpine 

height; 
Or  would  I  were  straw-catching   as  I 

drown, 
(A  wretched  landsman  I,  who  cannot 

swim), 

Or  watching  a  lone  vessel  sink, 
Rather  than    writing:    I  would   change 

my  pink 

Gauze  for  a  hideous  yellow  satin  gown 
With    deep-cut    scolloped    edges    and 
a  rim. 


28  MAUDE 


"Indeed  I  had  no  idea  of  the  sacri 
fice  you  were  making,"  observed 
Maude ;  you  did  it  with  such  heroic 
equanimity.  Might  I,  however,  ven 
ture  to  hint  that  my  sympathy  with 
your  sorrows  would  have  been  greater, 
had  they  been  expressed  in  metre  ?  " 

"  There 's  gratitude  for  you, "  cried 
Agnes  gaily  :  "  What  have  you  to 
expect,  Magdalen  ?  "  and  she  went 
on  to  read  her  friend's  sonnet: 

I    fancy    the    good    fairies   dressed  in 

white, 
Glancing    like    moonbeams    through  the 

shadows  black; 
Without  much  work  to  do  for  king  or  hack. 

Training  perhaps  some  twisted  branch 
aright; 

Or  sweeping  faded  autumn  leaves  from 
sight, 


MAUDE  29 


To  foster  embryo  life ;  or  binding  back 
Stray  tendrils;  or  in  ample  bean-pod  sack 
Bringing   wild  honey  from  the  rocky 

height; 

Or  fishing  for  a  fly  lest  it  should  drown; 

Or  teaching  water-lily  heads  to  swim, 

Fearful  that  sudden  rain  might  make  them 

sink; 

Or  dyeing  the  pale  rose  a  warmer  pink; 
Or  wrapping  lilies  in  their  leafy  gown, 
Yet  letting  the  white  peep  beyond  the 

rim. — 

"Well,  Maude?" 
"  Well,  Agnes ;  Miss  Ellis  is  too 
kind  to  feel  gratified  at  hearing  that 
her  verses  make  me  tremble  for  my 
own  :    but  such  as  they  are,  listen: 
' '  Some  ladies  dress  in  muslin  full    and 

white, 

Some   gentlemen   in   cloth  succinct  and 
black; 


30  MAUDE 


Some  patronise  a  dog-cart,  some  a  hack, 
Some   think  a   painted    clarence   only 

right. 

Youth  is  not  always  such  a  pleasing  sight, 
Witness  a  man  with  tassels  on  his  back; 
Or  woman  in  a  great-coat  like  a  sack 
Towering  above  her  sex -with  horrid 

height. 

If  all  the  world  were  water  fit  to  drown 
There  are  some  whom  you  would  not 

teach  to  swim, 

Rather  enjoying  if  you  saw  them  sink; 
Certain    old    ladies    dressed  in  girlish 

pink, 
With  roses    and    geraniums    on    their 

gowns: — 
Go  to  the  Basin,  poke  them  o'er  the  rim. 

"What  a  very  odd  sonnet  ":  said 
Mary  after  a  slight  pause:  but  surely 
men  don't  wear  tassels." 


MAUDE  31 


Her  cousin  smiled:  "  You  must 
allow  for  poetical  licence ;  and  I  have 
literally  seen  a  man  in  Regent  Street 
wearing  a  sort  of  hooded  cloak 
with  one  tassel.  Of  course  every  one 
will  understand  the  basin  to  mean  the 
one  in  St.  James's  Park.  " 

"With  these  explanations  your, 
sonnet  is  comprehensible,"  said 
Mary:  and  Magdalen  added  with 
unaffected  pleasure:  "  And  without 
them  it  was  by  far  the  best  of  the 
three." 

Maude  now  exerted  herself  to 
amuse  the  party;  and  soon  proved 
that  ability  was  not  lacking.  Game 
after  game  was  proposed  and  played 
at ;  and  her  fund  seemed  inexhausti 
ble,  for  nothing  was  thought  too 


32  MAUDE 


nonsensical  or  too  noisy  for  the  occa 
sion.  Her  good  humour  and  anima 
tion  were  infectious.  Miss  Stanton 
incurred  forfeits  with  the  blandest 
smile;  Hannah  Lindley  blushed  and 
dimpled  as  she  had  not  done  for 
many  months;  Rosanna  never  per 
ceived  the  derangement  of  her  scarf; 
little  Ellen  exulted  in  freedom  from 
schoolroom  trammels;  the  twins 
guessed  each  other's  thoughts  with 
marvellous  facility;  Magdalen  laugh 
ed  aloud;  and  even  Harriet  Eyre's 
dress  looked  scarcely  too  gay  for  such 
an  entertainment.  Well  was  it  for 
Mrs.  Clifton  that  the  strawberries, 
cream,  and  tarts  had  been  supplied 
with  no  niggard  hand  :  and  very 
meagre  was  the  remnant  left  when 
the  party  broke  up  at  a  late  hour. 


MAUDE 


33 


III 

AGNES  and  Mary  were  dis 
cussing  the  pleasures  of 
the  preceeding  evening  as 
they  sat  over  the  unusually  late 
breakfast,  when  Maude  joined  them. 
Salutations  being  exchanged  and  re 
freshments  supplied  to  the  last  comer, 
the  conversation  was  renewed. 

"  Who  did  you  think  was  the 
prettiest  girl  in  the  room  last  night  ? 
our  charming  selves,  of  course,  ex- 
cepted,"  asked  Mary  ;  "  Agnes  and 
I  cannot  agree  on  this  point." 

"  Yes,"  said  her  sister,  "  we  quite 
agree  as  to  mere  prettiness,  only  I 


34  MAUDE 


maintain  that  Magdalen  is  infinitely 
more  attractive  than  half  the  hand 
some  people  one  sees.  There  is  so 
much  sense  in  her  face,  and  such 
sweetness.  Besides,  her  eyes  are 
really  beautiful." 

"  Miss  Ellis  has  a  characteristic 
countenance,  but  she  appeared  to  me 
very  far  from  the  belle  of  the  even 
ing.  Rosanna  Hunt  has  much  more 
regular  features." 

u  Surely  you  do  n't  think  Rosanna 
prettier  than  Jane  and  Alice,"  in 
terrupted  Mary;  u  I  suppose  I  never 
look  at  those  two  without  fresh 
pleasure." 

u  They  have  good  fair  complex 
ions,  eyes,  and  hair,  certainly  ";  and 
Maude  glanced  rather  pointedly  at 


MAUDE  35 


her  unconscious  cousin:  "  but  to  me 
they  have  a  wax-dollish  air  which  is 
quite  unpleasant.  I  think  one  of 
the  handsomest  faces  in  the  room 
was  Miss  Stanton's." 

u  But  she  has  such  a  disagreeable 
expression,"  rejoined   Mary  hastily: 
then  colouring  she  half  turned  tow-, 
ards   her   sister,  who   looked  grave, 
but  did  not  speak. 

A  pause  ensued;  and  then  Agnes 
said,  "  I  remember  how  prejudiced  I 
felt  against  Miss  Stanton  when  first 
she  came  to  live  here,  for  her  appear 
ance  and  manners  are  certainly  unat 
tractive  :  and  how  ashamed  of  myself 
I  was  when  we  heard  that  last  year, 
through  all  the  bitterly  cold  weather, 
she  rose  at  six,  though  she  never  has 


36  MAUDE 


a  fire  in  her  room,  that  she  might 
have  time  before  breakfast  to  make 
clothes  for  some  of  the  poorest  peo 
ple  in  the  village.  And  in  the  spring, 
when  the  scarlet  fever  was  about,  her 
mother  would  not  let  her  go  near  the 
sick  children  for  fear  of  contagion; 
so  she  saved  up  all  her  pocket-money 
to  buy  wine  and  soup  and  such  things 
for  them  as  they  recovered." 

"I  daresay  she  is  very  good"; 
said  Maude :  "  but  that  does  not 
make  her  pleasing.  Besides,  the 
whole  family  have  that  disagreeable 
expression,  and  I  suppose  they  are 
not  all  paragons.  But  you  have  both 
finished  breakfast,  and  make  me 
ashamed  by  your  diligence.  What 
is  that  beautiful  piece  of  work?  " 


MAUDE  .  37 


The  sisters  looked  delighted.  "  I 
am  so  glad  you  like  it,  dear  Maude. 
•Mary  and  I  are  embroidering  a  cover 
for  the  lectern  in  our  church  ;  but  we 
feared  you  might  think  the  ground 
dull." 

"  Not  at  all;  I  prefer  those  quiet 
shades.  Why,  how  well  you  do  it : 
is  it  not  very  difficult?  —  Let  me  see 
if  I  understand  the  devices.  There 
is  the  cross  and  the  crown  of  thorns ; 
and  those  must  be  the  keys  of  St. 
Peter,  with,  of  course,  the  sword  of 
St.  Paul.  Do  the  flowers  mean  any 
thing?  " 

"  I  am  the  Rose  of  Sharon  and  the 
Lily  of  the  Valley,"  answered  Agnes 
pointing  :  "  That  is  balm  of  Gilead, 
at  least  it  is  what  we  call  so;  there 


38  MAUDE 


are  myrrh  and  hyssop,  and  that  is  a 
palm-branch.  The  border  is  to  be 
vine-leaves  and  grapes;  with  fig- 
leaves  at  the  corners,  thanks  to 
Mary's  suggestions.  Would  you 
like  to  help  us?  there  is  plenty  of 
room  at  the  frame." 

"  No,  I  should  not  do  it  well 
enough,  and  have  not  time  to  learn, 
as  we  go  home  to-morrow.  How  I 
envy  you  ";  she  continued  in  a  low 
voice,  as  if  speaking  rather  to  herself 
than  to  her  hearers:  "you  who  live 
in  the  country,  and  are  exactly  what 
you  appear,  and  never  wish  for  what 
you  do  not  possess.  I  am  sick  of 
display  and  poetry  and  acting." 

"  You  do  not  act,"  replied  Agnes 
warmly;  u  I  never  knew  a  more  sin- 


MAUDE  39 


cere  person.  One  difference  between 
us  is  that  you  are  less  healthy  and  far 
more  clever  than  I  am.  And  this 
reminds  me.  Miss  Savage  begged  me 
to  ask  you  for  some  verses  to  put  in 
her  album.  Would  you  be  so  very 
obliging  ?  Any  that  you  have  by  you 
would  do." 

"  She  can  have  the  sonnet  I  wrote 
last  night." 

Agnes  hesitated :  "  I  could  not 
well  offer  her  that,  because — " 

"  Why,  she  does  not  tower.  Oh ! 
I  suppose  she  has  some  reprehensible 
old  lady  in  her  family,  and  so  might 
feel  hurt  at  my  Lynch  law.  I  will 
find  you  something  else  then,  before 
I  go." 

And  that   evening,  when  Agnes 


40  MAUDE 


went  to  her  cousin's  room  to  help 
her  in  packing,  Maude  consigned  to 
her  a  neat  copy  of  the  following 
lines : 

She  sat  and  sang  alway 
By  the  green  margin  of  a  stream, 
Watching  the  fishes  leap  and  play 

Beneath  the  glad  sunbeam. 

I  sat  and  wept  alway 
Beneath  the  moon's  most  shadowy  beam, 
Watching  the  blossoms  of  the  May 

Weep  leaves  into  the  stream. 

I  wept  for  memory; 
She  sang  for  hope  that  is  so  fair;  — 
My  tears  were  swallowed  by  the  sea; 

Her  songs  died  on  the  air. 


MAUDE  41 


Part  II 


RATHER  more  than  a  year 
had  elapsed  since  Maude 
parted  from  her  cousins; 
and  now  she  was  expecting  their  ar 
rival  in  London  every  minute:  for 
Mrs.  Clifton,  unable  to  leave  her 
young  family,  had  gratefully  availed 
herself  of  Mrs.  Foster's  offer  to  re 
ceive  Agnes  and  Mary  during  the 
early  winter  months,  that  they  might 
take  music  and  dancing  lessons  with 
their  cousin. 

At  length  the  rumbling  of  an  ap 
proaching  cab  was  heard ;    then    a 


42  MAUDE 


loud  knock  and  ring.  Maude  started 
up;  but  instead  of  running  out  to 
meet  her  guests,  began  poking  vigor 
ously  at  the  fire,  which  soon  sent  a 
warm,  cheerful  light  through  the 
apartment,  enabling  her,  when  they 
entered,  to  discern  that  Agnes  had  a 
more  womanly  air  than  at  their  last 
meeting,  that  Mary  had  outgrown 
her  sister,  and  that  both  were  re 
markably  good-looking. 

"  First  let  me  show  you  your  room, 
and  then  you  can  settle  comfortably 
to  tea;  we  are  not  to  wait  for  mam 
ma.  She  thought  you  would  not 
mind  sleeping  together,  as  our  house 
is  so  small;  and  I  have  done  my 
best  to  arrange  things  to  your  taste, 
for  I  know  of  old  you  have  only  one 


MAUDE 


43 


taste  between  you.  Look,  my  room 
is  next  yours,  so  we  can  help  each 
other  very  cosily:  only  pray  do  n't 
think  of  unpacking  now:  there  will 
be  plenty  of  time  this  evening,  and 
you  must  be  famished:  come." 

But  Agnes  lingered  still,  eager  to 
thank  her  cousin  for  the  good-natured 
forethought  which  had  robbed  her 
own  apartment  of  flower- vases,  and 
inkstand  for  the  accommodation  of 
her  guests.  The  calls  of  Mary's 
appetite  were,  however,  imperious; 
and  very  soon  the  sisters  were  snugly 
settled  on  a  sofa  by  the  fire,  while 
Maude  in  a  neighbouring  armchair 
made  tea. 

"How  long  it  seems  since  my 
birthday  party,"  said  Mary,  as  soon  as 


44  MAUDE 


the  eatables  had  in  some  measure  re 
stored  her  social  powers.  "  Why, 
Maude,  you  are  grown  quite  a  woman, 
but  you  look  more  delicate  than  ever, 
and  very  thin ;  do  you  still  write 
verses  ?  "  Then  without  waiting  for 
a  reply :  u  Those  which  you  gave 
Miss  Savage  for  her  album  were  very 
much  admired ;  and  Magdalen  Ellis 
wished  at  the  time  for  an  autograph 
copy,  only  she  had  not  the  courage 
to  trouble  you.  But  perhaps  you  are 
not  aware  that  poor  Magdalen  has 
done  with  albums  and  such  like,  at 
least  for  the  present :  she  has  entered 
on  her  novitiate  in  the  Sisterhood  of 
Mercy  established  near  our  house." 

"  Why  poor  ?  "  said  Maude.     "  I 
think  she  is  very  happy." 


MAUDE  45 


"  Surely  you  would  not  like  such 
a  life,"  rejoined  her  cousin  :  "they 
have  not  proper  clothes  on  their  beds, 
and  never  go  out  without  a  thick 
veil,  which  must  half  blind  them. 
All  day  long  they  are  at  prayers,  or 
teaching  children,  or  attending  the 
sick,  or  making  poor  things,  or  some 
thing.  Is  that  to  your  taste  ?  " 

Maude  half  sighed,  and  then  an 
swered  :  u  You  cannot  imagine  me 
either  fit  or  inclined  for  such  a  life; 
still,  I  can  perceive  that  those  are 
very  happy  who  are.  When  I  was 
preparing  for  confirmation  Mr.  Paul 
son  offered  me  a  district ;  but  I  did 
not  like  the  trouble,  and  mamma 
thought  me  too  unwell  for  regularity. 
I  have  regretted  it  since,  though:  yet 


46  MAUDE 


I  do  n't  fancy  I  ever  could  have  talked 
to  the  poor  people  or  done  the  slight 
est  good.  Yes,  I  continue  to  write 
now  and  then  as  the  humour  seizes 
me;  and  if  Miss  Ellis — " 

"  Sister  Magdalen,"  whispered  Ag 
nes. 

"  If  Sister  Magdalen  will  accept 
it,  I  will  try  and  find  her  something 
admissible  even  within  convent  walls. 
But  let  us  change  the  subject.  On 
Thursday  we  are  engaged  to  tea  at 
Mrs.  Strawdy's.  There  will  be  no 
sort  of  party,  so  we  need  not  dress  or 
take  any  trouble." 

"  Will  my  aunt  go  with  us  ? " 
asked  Agnes. 

"  No.  Poor  mamma  has  been 
ailing  for  some  time  and  is  by  no 


MAUDE  47 


means  strong;  so  as  Mrs.  Strawdy 
is  an  old  schoolfellow  of  hers,  and 
a  most  estimable  person,  she  thinks 
herself  justified  in  consigning  you  to 
my  guardianship.  On  Saturday  we 
must  go  shopping,  as  Aunt  Letty 
says  you  are  to  get  your  winter 
things  in  London;  and  I  can  get 
mine  at  the  same  time.  On  Sun 
day — or  does  either  of  you  dislike 
cathedral  services  ? " 

Agnes  declared  they  were  her  de 
light;  and  Mary,  who  had  never 
attended  any,  expressed  great  pleas 
ure  at  the  prospect  of  hearing  what 
her  sister  preferred  to  all  secular 
music. 

"Very  well,"  continued  Maude; 
"  we  will  go  to  St.  Andrew's  then, 


48  MAUDE 


and  you  shall  be  introduced  to  a  per 
fect  service;  or  at  any  rate  to  per 
haps  the  nearest  English  approach 
to  vocal  perfection.  But  you  know 
you  are  to  be  quite  at  home  here ;  so 
we  have  not  arranged  any  particular 
plans  of  amusement,  but  mean  to 
treat  you  like  ourselves.  And  now 
it  is  high  time  for  you  to  retire. 
Here,  Agnes,"  handing  to  her  cousin 
a  folded  paper,  the  result  of  a  rum 
mage  in  her  desk;  u  will  you  enclose 
this  to  Sister  Magdalen,  and  assure 
her  that  my  verses  are  honoured 
even  in  my  own  eyes  by  her  accept 
ance.  You  can  read  them  if  you 
like,  and  Mary  too,  of  course;  only 
please  not  in  my  presence." 
They  were  as  follows : 


MAUDE  49 


Sweet,  sweet  sound  of  distant  waters  fall 
ing 

On  a  parched  and  thirsty  plain; 
Sweet,   sweet  song  of  soaring   skylark, 
calling 

On  the  sun  to  shine  again; 
Perfume  of  the  rose,  only  the  fresher 

For  past  fertilizing  rain; 
Pearls  amid  the  sea,  a  hidden  treasure 

For  some  daring  hand  to  gain: — 

Better,  dearer  than  all  these 

Is  the  earth  beneath  the  trees. 

Of  a  much  more  priceless  worth 

Is  the  old,  brown,  common  earth. 

Little  snow-white  lamb,  piteously  bleating 

For  thy  mother  far  away; 
Saddest,  sweetest  nightingale  retreating 

With  thy  sorrow  from  the  day; 
Weary  fawn  whom  night  has  overtaken, 

From  the  herd  gone  quite  astray; 


50  MAUDE 


Dove  whose  nest  was  rifled  and  forsaken 
In  the  budding  month  of  May:  — 
Roost  upon  the  leafy  trees, 
Lie  on  earth  and  take  your  ease: 
Death  is  better  far  than  birth, 
You  shall  turn  again  to  earth. 

Listen  to  the  never-pausing  murmur 
Of  the  waves  that  fret  the  shore; 

See  the  ancient  pine  that  stands  the  firmer 
For  the  storm-shock  that  it  bore; 

And  the  moon  her  silver  chalice  filling 
With  light  from  the  great  sun's  store; 

And  the  stars  which  deck  our  temple's 

ceiling 

As  the  flowers  deck  its  floor; 
Look  and  hearken  while  you  may, 
For  these  things  shall  pass  away: 
All  these  things  shall  fail  and  cease; 
Let  us  wait  the  end  in  peace. 


MAUDE  5 1 


Let  us  wait  the  end  in  peace;  for  truly 

That  shall  cease  which  was  before: 
Let  us  see  our  lamps  are  lighted,  duly 

Fed  with  oil,  nor  wanting  more: 
Let  us  pray  while  yet  the  Lord  will  hear 
us, 

For  the  time  is  almost  o'er; 
Yea,  the  end  of  all  is  very  near  us; 

Yea,  the  Judge  is  at  the  door. 

Let  us  pray  now,  while  we  may; 

It  will  be  too  late  to  pray 

When  the  quick  and  dead  shall  all 

Rise  at  the  last  trumpet-call. 


52  MAUDE 


II 

WHEN    Thursday  arrived 
Agnes  and  Mary  were 
indisposed  with  colds; 
so  Mrs.  Foster  insisted  on  her  daugh 
ter's  making   their  excuses  to  Mrs. 
Strawdy.    In  a  dismal  frame  of  mind, 
Maude,  assisted  by  her  sympathizing 
cousins,  performed   her    slight   pre 
liminary  toilet. 

u  You  have  no  notion  of  the  utter 
dreariness  of  this  kind  of  invitation: 
I  counted  on  your  helping  me  through 
the  evening,  and  now  you  fail  me. 
Thank  you,  Mary;  I  shall  not  waste 
eau  de  Cologne  on  my  handkerchief. 


MAUDE  53 


Good-night,  both:  mind  you  go  to 
bed  early,  and  get  up  quite  well,  to 
morrow.  Good-night." 

The  weather  was  foggy  and  raw 
as  Maude  stepped  into  the  street; 
and  proved  anything  but  soothing  to 
a  temper  already  fretted ;  so  by  the 
time  that  she  had  arrived  at  her 
destination,  removed  her  walking- 
things,  saluted  her  hostess,  and  apolo 
gised  for  her  cousins,  her  counte 
nance  had  assumed  an  expression 
neither  pleased  nor  pleasing. 

"Let  me  present  my  nieces  to 
you,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Strawdy, 
taking  her  young  friend  by  the  hand 
and  leading  her  towards  the  fire : 
"  This  is  Miss  Mowbray  ;  or,  as  you 
must  call  her,  Annie ;  that  is  Caro- 


54  MAUDE 


line,  and  that  Sophy.  They  have 
heard  so  much  of  you  that  any 
farther  introduction  is  needless"; 
here  Maude  bowed  rather  stiffly: 
"but  as  we  are  early  people  you 
will  excuse  our  commencing  with 
tea,  after  which  we  shall  have  leisure 
for  amusement." 

There  was  something  so  genuinely 
kind  and  simple  in  Mrs.  Strawdy's 
manner,  that  even  Maude  felt  molli 
fied,  and  resolved  on  doing  her  best 
not  only  towards  suppressing  all  ap 
pearance  of  yawns,  but  also  towards 
bearing  her  part  in  the  conversa 
tion. 

u  My  cousins  will  regret  their  in 
disposition  more  than  ever,  when  they 
learn  of  how  much  pleasure  it  has 


MAUDE  55 


deprived  them,"  said  she,  civilly  ad 
dressing  Miss  Mowbray. 

A  polite  bend,  smile,  and  murmur 
formed  the  sole  response,  and  once 
more  a  subject  had  to  be  started. 

"  Have  you  been  very  gay  lately  ? 
I  begin  to  acquire  the  reputation  of 
an  invalid,  and  so  my  privacy  is  re 
spected." 

Annie  coloured,  and  looked  ex 
cessively  embarrassed;  at  last  she 
answered  in  a  low,  hesitating  voice  : 
"  We  go  out  extremely  little,  partly 
because  we  never  dance." 

u  Nor  I,  either;  it  really  is  too 
fatiguing ;  yet  a  ball-room  is  no  bad 
place  for  a  mere  spectator.  Perhaps, 
though,  you  prefer  the  theatre  ?  " 

"  We  never  go  to  the  play,"  re- 


56  MAUDE 


joined  Miss  Mowbray  looking  more 
and  more  uncomfortable. 

Maude  ran  on  :  "  Oh,  I  beg  your 
pardon,  you  do  not  approve  of  such 
entertainments.  I  never  go,  but 
only  for  want  of  some  one  to  take 
me."  Then  addressing  Mrs.  Mow- 
bray  :  "  I  think  you  know  my  aunt, 
Mrs.  Clifton?  " 

u  I  visited  her  years  ago  with  your 
mamma,"  was  the  answer :  "  when 
you  were  quite  a  little  child.  I  hope 
she  continues  in  good  health.  Pray 
remember  me  to  her  and  to  Mr. 
Clifton  when  you  write." 

"With  pleasure.  She  has  a  large 
family  now,  eight  children." 

"That  is  indeed  a  large  family," 
rejoined  Mrs.  Strawdy,  intent  mean- 


MAUDE  57 


while  on  dissecting  a  cake  with 
mathematical  precision.  "You  must 
try  a  piece;  it  is  Sophy's  own  manu 
facture." 

Despairing  of  success  in  this  quar 
ter,  Maude  now  directed  her  atten 
tion  to  Caroline,  whose  voice  she  had 
not  heard  once  in  the  course  of  the 
evening. 

"I  hope  you  will  favour  us  with 
some  music  after  tea ;  in  fact,  I  can 
take  no  denial.  You  look  too  bloom 
ing  to  plead  a  cold,  and  I  feel  certain 
you  will  not  refuse  to  indulge  my 
love  for  sweet  sounds.  Of  your 
ability  to  do  so,  I  have  heard  else 
where." 

u  I  shall  be  most  happy,  only  you 
must  favour  us  in  return." 


58  MAUDE 


"  I  will  do  my  best,'*  answered 
Maude  somewhat  encouraged;  u  but 
my  own  performances  are  very  poor. 
Are  you  fond  of  German  songs  ? 
they  form  my  chief  resource." 
"  Yes,  I  like  them  much." 
Baffled  in  this  quarter  also,  Miss 
Foster  wanted  courage  to  attack 
Sophy,  whose  countenance  promised 
more  cake  than  conversation.  The 
meal  seemed  endless;  she  fidgetted 
under  the  table  with  her  fingers; 
pushed  about  a  stool  on  the  noise 
lessly  soft  carpet  until  it  came  in 
contact  with  some  one's  foot ;  and 
at  last  fairly  deprived  Caroline  of  her 
third  cup  of  coffee,  by  opening  the 
piano  and  claiming  the  fulfillment  of 
her  promise. 


MAUDE  59 


The  young  lady  complied  with 
obliging  readiness.  She  sang  some 
simple  airs,  mostly  religious,  not  in 
deed  with  much  expression,  but  in  a 
voice  clear  and  warbling  as  a  bird's. 
Maude  felt  consoled  for  all  the  con 
trarieties  of  the  day  ;  and  was  bar 
gaining  for  one  more  song  before 
taking  Caroline's  place  at  the  instru 
ment  when  the  door  opened  to  admit 
Mrs.  and  Miss  Savage;  who,  having 
only  just  reached  town,  and  hearing 
from  Mrs.  Foster  that  her  daughter 
was  at  the  house  of  a  mutual  friend, 
resolved  on  begging  the  hospitality  of 
Mrs.  Strawdy,  and  renewing  their 
acquaintance. 

Poor  Maude's  misfortunes  now 
came  thick  and  fast.  Seated  between 


60  MAUDE 


Miss  Savage  and  Sophia  Mowbray 
she  was  attacked  on  either  hand  with 
questions  concerning  her  verses.  In 
the  first  place,  did  she  continue  to 
write  ?  Yes.  A  flood  of  ecstatic 
compliments  followed  this  admission ; 
she  was  so  young,  so  much  admired, 
and,  poor  thing,  looked  so  delicate. 
It  was  quite  affecting  to  think  of  her 
lying  awake  at  night  meditating  those 
sweet  verses  —  (u  I  sleep  like  a  top," 
Maude  put  in  dryly) — which  so 
delighted  her  friends,  and  would  so 
charm  the  public,  if  only  Miss  Fos 
ter  could  be  induced  to  publish.  At 
last  the  bystanders  were  called  upon 
to  intercede  for  a  recitation. 

Maude  coloured  with  displeasure; 
a  hasty  answer  was  rising  to  her  lips 


MAUDE  61 


when  the  absurdity  of  her  position 
flashed  across  her  mind  so  forcibly 
that,  almost  unable  to  check  a  laugh 
in  the  midst  of  her  annoyance,  she 
put  her  handkerchief  to  her  mouth. 
Miss  Savage,  impressed  with  a  no 
tion  that  her  request  was  about  to  be 
complied  with,  raised  her  hand,  im 
ploring  silence,  and  settled  herself  in 
a  listening  attitude. 

u  You  will  excuse  me,"  Maude  at 
last  said  very  coldly.  "  I  could  not 
think  of  monopolising  every  one's  at 
tention.  Indeed  you  are  extremely 
good,  but  you  must  excuse  me." 
And  here  Mrs.  Savage  interposed, 
desiring  her  daughter  not  to  tease 
Miss  Foster;  and  Mrs.  Strawdy  sec 
onded  her  friend's  arguments  by  a 


62  MAUDE 


hint  that  supper  would  make  its  ap 
pearance  in  a  few  minutes. 

Finally  the  maid  announced  that 
Miss  Foster  was  fetched ;  and  Maude, 
shortening  her  adieus  and  turning  a 
deaf  ear  to  Annie's  suggestion  that 
their  acquaintance  should  not  termi 
nate  with  the  first  meeting,  returned 
home  dissatisfied  with  her  circum 
stances,  her  friends,  and  herself. 


MAUDE  63 


III 

IT  was  Christmas  Eve.  All  day 
long  Maude  and  her  cousins 
were  hard  at  work  putting  up 
holly  and  mistletoe  in  wreaths,  fes 
toons,  or  bunches,  wherever  the 
arrangement  of  the  rooms  admitted 
of  such  embellishment.  The  pic 
ture-frames  were  hidden  behind  foli 
age  and  bright  berries ;  the  bird 
cages  were  stuck  as  full  of  green  as 
though  it  had  been  summer.  A  fine 
sprig  of  holly  was  set  apart  as  a 
centre-bit  for  the  pudding  of  next 
day:  scratched  hands  and  injured 
gowns  were  disregarded:  hour  after 


64  MAUDE 


hour  the  noisy  bustle  raged  until 
Mrs.  Foster,  hunted  from  place  to 
place  by  her  young  relatives,  heard, 
with  inward  satisfaction,  that  the 
decorations  were  completed. 

After  tea  Mary  set  the  back 
gammon  board  in  array  and  chal 
lenged  her  aunt  to  their  customary 
evening  game:  Maude,  complaining 
of  a  headache,  and  promising  either 
to  wrap  herself  in  a  warm  shawl  or 
to  go  to  bed,  went  to  her  room:  and 
Agnes,  listening  to  the  rattle  of  the 
dice,  at  last  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  her  presence  was  not  needed 
downstairs,  and  resolved  to  visit  the 
upper  regions.  Thinking  that  her 
cousin  was  lying  down  tired  and 
might  have  fallen  asleep,  she  forebore 


MAUDE  65 


knocking,  but  opened  the  door  softly 
and  peeped  in. 

Maude  was  seated  at  a  table,  sur 
rounded  by  the  old  chaos  of  station 
ery;  before  her  lay  the  locking  manu 
script  book,  into  which  she  had  just 
copied  something.  That  day  she  had 
appeared  more  than  usually  animated, 
and  now  supporting  her  forehead 
upon  her  hand,  her  eyes  cast  down 
till  the  long  lashes  nearly  rested  upon 
her  cheeks,  she  looked  pale,  languid, 
almost  in  pain.  She  did  not  move, 
but  let  her  visitor  come  close  to  her 
without  speaking.  Agnes  thought 
she  was  crying. 

u  Dear  Maude,  you  have  overtired 
yourself.  Indeed,  for  all  our  sakes, 
you  should  be  more  careful "  :  here 


66  MAUDE 


Agnes  passed  her  arm  affectionately 
round  her  friend's  neck:  u  I  hoped 
to  find  you  fast  asleep,  and  instead  of 
this  you  have  been  writing  in  the 
cold.  Still,  I  did  not  come  to  lec 
ture;  and  am  even  ready  to  show  my 
forgiving  disposition  by  reading  your 
new  poem:  may  I  ?  " 

Maude  glanced  quickly  up  at  her 
cousin's  kind  face,  then  answered: 
u  Yes,  if  you  like  ";  and  Agnes  read 
as  follows: 

Vanity  of  vanities,  the  Preacher  saith, 
All  things  are  vanity.  The  eye  and  ear 
Cannot  be  filled  with  what  they  see  and 
hear: 

Like  early  dew,  or  like  the  sudden 
breath 

Of  wind,  or  like  the  grass  that  with- 
ereth, 


MAUDE  67 


Is  man,  tossed  to  and  fro  by  hope  and  fear: 
So  little  joy  hath  he,  so  little  cheer, 
Till  all  things  end  in  the  long  dust  of 

death. 
To-day  is  still  the  same  as  yesterday, 

To-morrow  also  even  as  one  of  them; 
And  there  is  nothing  new  under  the  sun. 
Until  the  ancient  race  of  time  be  run, 
The  old  thorns  shall  grow  out  of  the 

old  stem; 
And  morning   shall  be  cold  and  twilight 

grey. 

This  sonnet  was  followed  by  an 
other,  written  like  a  postscript. 

I  listen  to  the  holy  antheming 
That  riseth  in  thy  walls  continually, 
What  while  the  organ  pealeth  solemnly 
And  white-robed  men  and  boys  stand 

up  to  sing. 

I  ask  my  heart  with  a  sad  question 
ing: 


68  MAUDE 


"  What  lov'st  thou  here?  "  and  my  heart 

answers  me: 

"Within  the  shadows  of  this  sanctuary 
To  watch   and  pray  is  a  most  blessed 

thing. " 
To  watch  and  pray,  false  heart?  it  is  not 

so: 

Vanity  enters  with  thee,  and  thy  love 
Soars  not  to  heaven,  but  grovelleth 

below. 
Vanity  keepeth  guard,  lest  good   should 

reach 
Thy   hardness;  not   the  echoes   from 

above 
Can   rule  thy  stubborn  feelings  or  can 

teach  — 

"Was  this  composed  after  going 
to  St.  Andrew's  ?  " 

"  No;  I  wrote  it  just  now,  but  I 
was  thinking  of  St.  Andrew's.  It  is 


MAUDE  69 


horrible  to  feel  such  a  hypocrite  as  I 
do." 

"Oh!  Maude,  I  only  wish  I  were 
as  sensible  of  my  faults  as  you  are 
of  yours.  But  a  hypocrite  you  are 
not:  don't  you  see  that  every  line 
of  these  sonnets  attests  your  sin 
cerity?  " 

u  You  will  stay  to  Communion 
to-morrow? "  asked  Maude  after  a 
short  silence,  and  without  replying 
to  her  cousin's  speech;  even  these 
few  words  seemed  to  cost  her  an 
effort. 

"Of  course  I  shall:  why,  it  is 
Christmas  day: —  at  least  I  trust  to 
do  so.  Mary  and  I  have  been  think 
ing  how  nice  it  will  be  for  us  all  to 
receive  together:  so  I  want  you  to 


70  MAUDE 


promise  that  you  will  pray  for  us  at 
the  altar,  as  I  shall  for  you.  Will 
you  ? " 

"  I  shall  not  receive  to-morrow," 
answered  Maude;  then  hurrying  on 
as  if  to  prevent  the  other  from  re 
monstrating  :  u  No :  at  least  I  will 
not  profane  holy  things ;  I  will  not 
add  this  to  all  the  rest.  ,1  have  gone 
over  and  over  again,  thinking  I  should 
come  right  in  time,  and  I  do  not 
come  right:  I  will  go  no  more." 

Agnes  turned  quite  pale:  "  Stop," 
she  said,  interrupting  her  cousin: 
"  Stop ;  you  cannot  mean  —  you  do 
not  know  what  you  are  saying.  You 
will  go  no  more?  Only  think,  if 
the  struggle  is  so  hard  now,  what  it 
will  be  when  you  reject  all  help." 


MAUDE 


"  I  do  not  struggle." 

"You  are  ill  to-night,"  rejoined 
Agnes  very  gently,  "  you  are  tired 
and  over-excited.  Take  my  advice, 
dear;  say  your  prayers  and  get  to 
bed.  But  do  not  be  very  long;  if 
there  is  anything  you  miss  and  will 
tell  me  of,  I  will  say  it  in  your  stead. 
Do  n't  think  me  unfeeling.  I  was 
once  on  the  very  point  of  acting 
as  you  propose.  I  was  perfectly 
wretched :  harassed  and  discouraged 
on  all  sides.  But  then  it  struck  me 
—  you  won't  be  angry  ?  —  that  it 
was  so  ungrateful  to  follow  my  own 
fancies,  instead  of  at  least  endeavour 
ing  to  do  God's  will ;  and  so  foolish, 
too ;  for  if  our  safety  is  not  in 
obedience,  where  is  it  ?  " 


72  MAUDE 


Maude  shook  her  head  :  u  Your 
case  is  different.  Whatever  your 
faults  may  be  (not  that  I  perceive 
any),  you  are  trying  to  correct  them; 
your  own  conscience  tells  you  that. 
But  I  am  not  trying.  No  one  will 
say  that  I  cannot  avoid  putting  my 
self  forward  and  displaying  my 
verses.  Agnes,  you  must  admit  so 
much." 

Deep-rooted,  indeed,  was  that 
vanity  which  made  Maude  take 
pleasure  on  such  an  occasion  in 
proving  the  force  of  arguments  di 
rected  against  herself.  Still  Agnes 
would  not  yield,  but  resolutely  did 
battle  for  the  truth. 

u  If  hitherto  it  has  been  so,  let  it 
be  so  no  more.  It  is  not  too  late: 


MAUDE 


73 


besides,  think  for  one  moment  what 
will  be  the  end  of  this.  We  must 
all  die  :  what  if  you  keep  to  your 
resolution,  and  do  as  you  have  said, 
and  receive  the  Blessed  Sacrament 
no  more  ? "  Her  eyes  filled  with 
tears. 

Maude's  answer  came  in  a  sub 
dued  tone :  "  I  do  not  mean  never 
to  communicate  again.  You  re 
member  Mr.  Paulson  told  us  last, 
Sunday  that  sickness  and  suffering 
are  sent  for  our  correction.  I  suffer 
very  much.  Perhaps  a  time  will 
come  when  these  will  have  done 
their  work  on  me  also ;  when  I  shall 
be  purified  indeed  and  weaned  from 
the  world.  Who  knows?  the  lost 
have  been  found,  the  dead  quick- 


74  MAUDE 


ened."  She  paused  as  if  in  thought; 
then  continued  :  "  You  partake  of 
the  Blessed  Sacrament  in  peace, 
Agnes,  for  you  are  good ;  and  Mary, 
for  she  is  harmless  :  but  your  con 
duct  cannot  serve  to  direct  mine, 
because  I  am  neither  the  one  nor 
the  other.  Some  day  I  may  be  fit 
again  to  approach  the  Holy  Altar,  but 
till  then  I  will  at  least  refrain  from 
dishonouring  it." 

Agnes  felt  almost  indignant. 
"  Maude,  how  can  you  talk  so  ? 
this  is  not  reverence.  You  cannot 
mean  that  for  the  present  you  will 
indulge  vanity  and  display ;  that  you 
will  court  admiration  and  applause; 
that  you  will  take  your  fill  of  pleas 
ure  until  sickness,  or  it  may  be  death, 


MAUDE  75 


strips  you  of  temptation  and  sin  to 
gether.  Forgive  me ;  I  am  sure  you 
never  meant  this  :  yet  what  else  does 
a  deliberate  resolution  to  put  off  do 
ing  right  come  to  ? — and  if  you  are 
determined  at  once  to  do  your  best, 
why  deprive  yourself  of  the  appointed 
means  of  grace  ?  Dear  Maude,  think 
better  of  it ";  and  Agnes  knelt  be 
side  her  cousin,  and  laid  her  head 
against  her  bosom. 

But  still  Maude,  with  a  sort  of 
desperate  wilfulness,  kept  saying : 
"  It  is  of  no  use ;  I  cannot  go  to 
morrow  ;  it  is  of  no  use."  She  hid 
her  face,  leaning  upon  the  table  and 
weeping  bitterly ;  while  Agnes,  al 
most  discouraged,  quitted  the  room. 

Maude,  once  more  alone,  sat  for 


76  MAUDE 


some  time  just  as  her  cousin  left  her. 
Gradually  the  thick,  low  sobs  be 
came  more  rare ;  she  was  beginning 
to  feel  sleepy.  At  last  she  roused 
herself  with  an  effort  and  com 
menced  undressing ;  then  it  struck 
her  that  her  prayers  had  still  to  be 
said.  The  idea  of  beginning  them 
frightened  her  ;  yet  she .  could  not 
settle  to  sleep  without  saying  some 
thing.  Strange  prayers  they  must 
have  been,  offered  with  a  divided 
heart  and  a  reproachful  conscience. 
Still  they  were  said  at  length;  and 
Maude  lay  down  harassed,  wretched, 
remorseful,  everything  but  penitent. 
She  was  nearly  asleep,  nearly  un 
conscious  of  her  troubles,  when  the 
first  strokes  of  midnight  sounded. 


MAUDE  77 


Immediately  a  party  of  Christmas 
waits  and  carollers  burst  forth  with 
their  glad  music.  The  first  part  was 
sung  in  full  chorus  : 

"  Thank  God,  thank  God,  we  do  believe, 
Thank  God  that  this  is  Christmas  Eve. 
Even  as  we  kneel  upon  this  day, 
Even  so  the  ancient  legends  say, 
Nearly  two  thousand  years  ago 
The  stalled  ox  knelt,  and  even  so 
The  ass  knelt,  full  of  praise,  which  they 
Could  not  repress,  while  we  can  pray. 
Thank  God,   thank  God,    for  Christ 

was  born 

Ages  ago,  as  on  this  morn. 
In  the  snow-season  undefiled 
Christ  came  to  earth  a  Little  Child  : 
He  put  His  ancient  Glory  by 
To  live  for  us  and  then  to  die." 


78  MAUDE 


Then  half  the  voices  sang  the  fol 
lowing  stanza : 

"  How  shall  we  thank  God?  how  shall  we 
Thank  Him  and  praise  Him  worthily  ? 
What  will  He  have  Who  loved  us  thus? 
What  presents  will  He  take  from  us  ? 
Will  He  take  Gold  ?    or  precious  heap 
Of  gems  ?  or  shall  we  rather  steep 
The  air  with  incense  ?  or  bring  myrrh  ? 
What  man  will  be  our  messenger 
To  go  to  Him  and  ask  His  Will  ? 
Which  having  learned,  we  will  fulfil, 
Though  He  choose  all  we  most  prefer  : 
What  man  will  be  our  messenger  ?" 
This  was  answered  by  the  other 
half: 

"Thank  God,  thank  God,  the  Man  is 

found, 

Sure-footed,  knowing  well  the  ground. 
He  knows  the  road,  for  this  the  way 


MAUDE  79 


He  travelled  once,  as  on  this  day. 
He  is  our  Messenger  ;  beside, 
He  is  our  Door  and  Path  and  Guide  ; 
He  also  is  our  Offering  ; 
He    is    the     Gift.     That    we    must 
bring— " 

Finally  all  the  singers  joined  in  the 
conclusion : 

"  Let  us  kneel  down  with  one  accord 
And  render  thanks  unto  the  Lord. 
For  unto  us  a  Child  is  born 
Upon  this  happy  Christmas  morn  ; 
For  unto  us  a  Son  is  given, 
First-born     of     God    and    Heir     of 
Heaven." 

As  the  echoes  died  away,  Maude 
fell  asleep. 


8o  MAUDE 


Part  III 


Agnes  Clifton  to  Maude  Foster. 

1 2th  June,  1 8 — . 
My  Dear  Maude, — 

MAMMA  has  written  to  my 
aunt  that  Mary's  mar 
riage  is  fixed  for  the  4th 
of  next  month:  but  as  I  fear  we 
cannot  expect  you  both  so  many 
days  before  the  time,  I  also  write, 
hoping  that  you  at  least  will  come 
without  delay.  At  any  rate,  I  shall 
be  at  the  station  to-morrow  afternoon 
with  a  chaise  for  your  luggage,  so 
pray  take  pity  on  my  desolate  condi 
tion,  and  avail  yourself  of  the  three- 


MAUDE  8 1 


o'clock  train.  As  we  are  both 
bridesmaids  -  elect,  I  thought  it 
would  be  very  nice  for  us  to  be 
dressed  alike,  so  have  procured  double 
quantity  of  everything;  thus  you  will 
perceive  no  pretence  remains  for  your 
lingering  in  smoky  London. 

You  will  be  amused  when  you  see 
Mary:  I  have  already  lost  my  com 
panion.  Mr.  Herbert  calls  at  least 
once  a  day,  but  sometimes  oftener; 
so  all  day  long  Mary  is  on  the  alert. 
She  takes  much  more  interest  in  the 
roses  over  the  porch  than  was  for 
merly  the  case;  the  creepers  outside 
the  windows  require  continual  train 
ing,  not  to  say  hourly  care.  I  tell 
her  the  constitution  of  the  garden 
must  have  become  seriously  weak- 


82  MAUDE 


ened  lately.  One  morning  I  caught 
her  before  the  glass,  trying  the  effect 
of  syringa  (the  English  orange- 
blossom,  you  know)  in  her  hair. 
She  looked  such  a  darling.  I  hinted 
how  flattered  Mr.  Herbert  would 
feel  when  I  told  him;  which  pro 
voked  her  to  offer  a  few  remarks  on 
old  maids.  Was  it  not  a  shame? 

Last  Thursday  Magdalen  Ellis  was 
finally  received  into  the  Sisterhood  of 
Mercy.  I  wished  much  to  be  pres 
ent,  but  could  not,  as  the  whole 
affair  was  conducted  quite  privately  ; 
only  her  parents  were  admitted  of 
the  world.  However,  I  made  in 
terest  for  a  lock  of  her  beautiful  hair, 
which  I  prize  highly.  It  makes  me 
sad  to  look  at  it ;  yet  I  know  she  has 


MAUDE  83 


chosen  well,  and  will,  if  she  perse 
veres,  receive  hereafter  an  abundant 
recompense  for  all  she  has  foregone 
here.  Sometimes  I  think  whether 
such  a  life  can  be  suited  to  me ;  but 
then  I  could  not  bear  to  leave  mam 
ma:  indeed  that  is  just  what  Mag 
dalen  felt  so  much.  I  met  her  yester 
day  walking  with  some  poor  children. 
Her  veil  was  down,  nearly  hiding  her 
face ;  still  I  fancy  she  looked  thought 
ful,  but  very  calm  and  happy.  She 
says  she  always  prays  for  me,  and 
asked  my  prayers ;  so  I  begged  her 
to  remember  you  and  Mary.  Then 
she  enquired  how  you  are,  desiring 
her  kindest  love  to  you,  and  assuring 
me  she  makes  no  doubt  your  name 
will  be  known  at  some  future  period; 


84  MAUDE 


but  checking  herself  almost  immedi 
ately,  she  added  that  she  could  fancy 
you  very  different  as  pale  Sister 
Maude.  This  surprised  me  ;  I  can 
fancy  nothing  of  the  sort.  At  last 
she  mentioned  the  verses  you  gave 
her  months  ago,  which  she  knows 
by  heart  and  values  extremely:  then, 
having  nearly  reached  my  home,  we 
parted. 

What  a  document  I  have  com 
posed;  I,  who  have  not  one  minute 
to  spare  from  Mary's  trousseau.  Will 
you  give  my  love  to  my  aunt,  and 
request  her  from  me  to  permit  your 
immediately  coming  to 

Your  affectionate  cousin, 

AGNES  M.  CLIFTON. 

P.S. —  Mary  would  doubtless  send 


MAUDE  85 


a  message  were  she  in  the  room;  I 
conjecture  her  to  be  lurking  about 
somewhere  on  the  watch.  Good 
bye  :  or  rather,  come. 

Maude  handed  the  letter  to  her 
mother :  "  Can  you  spare  me,  mam 
ma?  I  should  like  to  go,  but  not  if 
it  is  to  inconvenience  you." 

u  Certainly,  you  shall  go,  my  dear. 
It  is  a  real  pleasure  to  hear  you  ex 
press  interest  on  some  point,  and 
you  cannot  be  with  any  one  I  approve 
of  more  than  Agnes.  But  you  must 
make  haste  with  the  packing  now: 
I  will  come  and  help  you  in  a  few 
minutes." 

Still  Maude  lingered. 

"  Did  you  see  about  Magdalen  ? 


86  MAUDE 


I  wonder  what  made  her  think  of  me 
as  a  sister.  It  is  very  nice  of  her; 
but  then  she  is  so  good  she  never 
can  conceive  what  I  am  like.  Mam 
ma,  should  you  mind  my  being  a 
nun?" 

tc  Yes,  my  dear,  it  would  make 
me  miserable.  But  for  the  present 
take  my  advice  and  hurry  a  little,  or 
the  train  will  leave  without  you.** 

Thus  urged,  Maude  proceeded  to 
bundle  various  miscellaneous  goods 
into  a  trunk;  the  only  article  on  the 
safety  of  which  she  bestowed  much 
thought  being  the  present  destined 
for  Mary;  a  sofa-pillow  worked  in 
glowing  shades  of  wool  and  silk. 
This  she  wrapped  carefully  in  a 
cloth  and  laid  at  the  bottom;  then 


MAUDE  87 


over  it  all  else  was  heaped  without 
much  ceremony.  Many  were  the 
delays  occasioned  by  things  mislaid, 
which  must  be  looked  for;  ill- 
secured,  which  must  be  re-arranged; 
or  remembered  too  late,  which  yet 
could  not  be  dispensed  with,  and  so 
must  be  crammed  in  somewhere. 
At  length,  however,  the  tardy  prepa 
rations  were  completed;  and  Maude, 
enveloped  in  two  shawls,  though  it 
was  the  height  of  summer,  stepped 
into  a  cab,  promising  strict  con 
formity  to  her  mother's  injunction 
that  both  windows  should  be  kept 
closed. 

Half  an  hour  had  not  elapsed 
when  another  cab  drove  up  to  the 
door,  and  out  of  it  Maude  was  lifted 


88  MAUDE 


perfectly  insensible.  She  had  been 
overturned,  and  though  no  limb  was 
broken,  had  neither  stirred  nor  spoken 
since  the  accident. 


MAUDE  89 


II 

Maude  Foster  to  Agnes  Clifton. 

2nd  July,  1 8 — 
My  Dear  Agnes, — 

YOU  have  heard  of  my  mis 
hap  ?  it  keeps  me,  not  bed 
ridden,     but     sofa-ridden. 
My  side  is  dreadfully  hurt ;  I  looked 
at  it  this  morning  for  the  first  time, 
but  hope  never  again  to  see  so  shock 
ing  a  sight.     The  pain  now  and  then 
is  extreme,  though  not  always   so; 
sometimes,   in    fact,    I    am    uncon 
scious  of  any  injury. 

Will  you  convey  my  best  love  and 
wishes    to  Mary,  and  tell  her  how 


90  MAUDE 


much  I  regret  being  away  from  her 
at  such  a  time,  especially  as  mamma 
will  not  hear  of  leaving  me.  A  day 
or  two  ago  I  tried  to  compose  an 
epithalamium  for  our  fair  fiancee ; 
which  effort  resulted  in  my  present 
enclosure  :  not  much  to  the  purpose, 
we  must  admit.  You  may  read  it 
when  no  better  employment  offers. 
The  first  Nun  no  one  can  suspect  of 
being  myself,  partly  because  my  hair 
is  far  from  yellow  and  I  do  not  wear 
curls,  partly  because  I  never  did  any 
thing  half  so  good  as  profess.  The 
second  might  be  Mary,  had  she 
mistaken  her  vocation.  The  third 
is  Magdalen,  of  course.  But  what 
ever  you  miss,  pray  read  the  mottoes. 
Put  together,  they  form  a  most  ex- 


MAUDE  91 


quisite  little  song  which  the  nuns 
sing  in  Italy.  One  can  fancy  Sister 
Magdalen  repeating  it  with  her  whole 
heart. 

The  surgeon  comes  twice  a  day 
to  dress  my  wounds ;  still  all  the 
burden  of  nursing  falls  on  poor 
mamma.  How  I  wish  you  were 
here  to  help  us  both ;  we  should  find 
plenty  to  say. 

But  perhaps  ere  many  months  are 
passed  I  shall  be  up  and  about,  when 
we  may  go  together  on  a  visit  to 
Mary;  a  most  delightful  possibility. 
By  the  way,  how  I  should  love  a 
baby  of  hers,  and  what  a  pretty  little 
creature  it  ought  to  be.  Do  you 
think  Mr.  Herbert  handsome  ?  hither 
to  I  have  only  heard  a  partial  opinion. 


92  MAUDE 


Uh,  my  side!  it  gives  an  awful 
twinge  now  and  then.  You  need 
not  read  my  letter;  but  I  must  write 
it,  for  I  am  unable  to  do  anything 
else.  Did  the  pillow  reach  safely? 
It  gave  me  so  much  pleasure  to  work 
it  for  Mary,  who,  I  hope,  likes  it. 
At  all  events,  if  not  to  her  taste,  she 
may  console  herself  with  the  reflec 
tion  that  it  is  unique  ;  for  the  pattern 
was  my  own  designing. 

Here    comes    dinner;     good-bye. 
When  will  anything  so  welcome  as 
your  kind  face  gladden  the  eyes  of 
Your  affectionate 

MAUDE  FOSTER  ? 

P.S. — I  have  turned  tippler  lately 
on  port  wine,  three  times  a  day. 
"  To  keep  you  up,"  says  my  doctor: 


MAUDE  93 


while  I  obstinately  refuse  to  be  kept 
up,  but  insist  on  becoming  weaker 
and  weaker.  Mind  you  write  me  a 
full  history  of  your  grand  doings  on 
a  certain  occasion;  not  omitting  a 
detailed  account  of  the  lovely  bride, 
her  appearance,  deportment,  and 
toilet.  Good-bye  once  more :  when 
shall  I  see  you  all  again  ? 

THREE  NUNS 
I 

"  Sospira  questo  core 
E  non  sadir  perche" 

Shadow,  shadow  on  the  wall, 
Spread  thy  shelter  over  me  ; 

Wrap  me  with  a  heavy  pall, 

With  the  dark  that  none  may  see. 

Fold  thyself  around  me;  come: 

Shut  out  all  the  troublesome 

Noise  of  life;  I  would  be  dumb. 


94  MAUDE 


Shadow,  thou  hast  reached  my  feet, 
Rise  and  cover  up  my  head; 

Be  my  stainless  winding-sheet, 
Buried  before  I  am  dead. 

Lay  thy  cool  upon  my  breast: 

Once  I  thought  that  joy  was  best, 

Now  I  only  care  for  rest. 

By  the  grating  of  my  cell 

Sings  a  solitary  bird  : 
Sweeter  than  the  vesper  befl, 

Sweetest  song  was  ever  heard.* 
Sing  upon  thy  living  tree  : 
Happy  echoes  answer  thee, 
Happy  songster,  sing  to  me. 

When  my  yellow  hair  was  curled 
Though  men  saw  and  called  me  fair, 

I  was  weary  in  the  world, 
Full  of  vanity  and  care. 

*"  Sweetest    eyes   were    ever    seen." — E.  B. 
Browning. 


MAUDE  95 


Gold  was  left  behind,  curls  shorn 
When  I  came  here;  that  same  morn 
Made  a  bride  no  gems  adorn. 

Here  wrapped  in  my  spotless  veil, 
Curtained  from  intruding  eyes, 

I  whom  prayers  and  fasts  turn  pale 
Wait  the  flush  of  Paradise. 

But  the  vigil  is  so  long 

My  heart  sickens  —  sing  thy  song, 

Blithe  bird  that  canst  do  no  wrong. 

Sing  on,  making  me  forget 

Present  sorrow  and  past  sin; 
Sing  a  little  longer  yet : 

Soon  the  matins  will  begin : 
And  I  must  turn  back  again 
To  that  aching  worse  than  pain 
I  must  bear  and  not  complain. 

Sing,  that  in  thy  song  I  may 

Dream  myself  once  more  a  child 


96  MAUDE 


In  the  green  woods  far  away 
Plucking  clematis  and  wild 
Hyacinths,  till  pleasure  grew 
Tired,  yet  so  was  pleasure  too, 
Resting  with  no  work  to  do. 

In  the  thickest  of  the  wood 

I  remember,  long  ago 
How  a  stately  oak-tree  stood 

With  a  sluggish  pool  below, 
Almost  shadowed  out  of  sight. 
On  the  waters  dark  as  night, 
Water-lilies  lay  like  light. 

There,  while  yet  a  child  I  thought 
I  could  live  as  in  a  dream, 

Secret,  neither  found  nor  sought: 
Till  the  lilies  on  the  stream, 

Pure  as  virgin  purity, 

Would  seem  scarce  too  pure  for  me 

Ah,  but  that  can  never  be. 


MAUDE  97 


II 

ttSospirera  cfamore 
Ma  non  lodice  a  me" 

I  loved  him,  yes,  where  was  the  sin? 
I  loved  him  with  my  heart  and  soul, 
But  I  pressed  forward  to  no  goal, 

There  was  no  prize  I  strove  to  win. 

Show  me  my  sin  that  I  may  see: — 

Throw  the  first  stone,  thou  Pharisee. 

I  loved  him,  but  I  never  sought 

That  he  should  know  that  I  was  fair. 
I  prayed  for  him;  was  my  sin  prayer? 

I  sacrificed,  he  never  bought. 

He  nothing  gave,  he  nothing  took; 

We  never  bartered  look  for  look. 

My  voice  rose  in  the  sacred  choir, 

The  choir  of  Nuns;  do  you  condemn 
Even  if,  when  kneeling  among  them, 


98  MAUDE 


Faith,  zeal,  and  love  kindled  a  fire, 
And  I  prayed  for  his  happiness 
Who  knew  not?  was  my  error  this? 

I  only  prayed  that  in  the  end, 

His  trust  and  hope  may  not  be  vain. 
I  prayed  not  we  may  meet  again: 

I  would  not  let  our  names  ascend, 

No,  not  to  Heaven,  in  the  same  breath; 

Nor  will  I  join  the  two  in  death. 

Oh  sweet  is  death,  for  I  am  weak 
And  weary,  and  it  giveth  rest. 
The  Crucifix  lies  on  my  breast, 
And  all  night  long  it  seems  to  speak 
Of  rest;  I  hear  it  through  my  sleep, 
And  the  great  comfort  makes  me  weep. 

Oh  sweet  is  death  that  bindeth  up 
The  broken  and  the  bleeding  heart. 
The  draught  chilled  but  a  cordial  part 


MAUDE  99 


Lurked  at  the  bottom  of  the  cup, 
And  for  my  patience  will  my  Lord 
Give  an  exceeding  great  reward. 

Yea,  the  reward  is  almost  won, 
A  crown  of  glory  and  a  palm. 
Soon  I  shall  sing  the  unknown  psalm; 

Soon  gaze  on  light,  not  on  the  sun; 

And  soon,  with  surer  faith,  shall  pray 

For  him,  and  cease  not  night  nor  day. 

My  life  is  breaking  like  a  cloud; 

God  judgeth  not  as  man  doth  judge — 
Nay,    bear  with   me;    you   need  not 

grudge 

This  peace;  the  vows  that  I  have  vowed 
Have  all  been  kept;  Eternal  Strength 
Holds    me,    though  mine   own    fails    at 
length. 

Bury  me  in  the  Convent  ground 

Among  the  flowers  that  are  so  sweet; 
And  lay  a  green  turf  at  my  feet 


ioo  MAUDE 


Where  thick  trees  cast  a  gloom  around. 
At  my  head  let  a  Cross  be,  white 
Through  the  long  blackness  of  the  night. 

Now  kneel  and  pray  beside  my  bed 
That  I  may  sleep  being  free  from  pain : 
And  pray  that  I  may  wake  again 
After  His  Likeness,  Who  hath  said 
(Faithful  is  He  Who  promiseth), 
We  shall  be  satisfied  Therewith. 

Ill 

"  Rispondimi,  cor  mio, 

Perchi  tospiri  tu  7 
Risponde:   Vogtio  Iddio, 
Sospiro  per  G«fi." 

My  heart  is  as  a  free-born  bird 

Caged  in  my  cruel  breast, 
That  flutters,  flutters  evermore, 

Nor  sings,  nor  is  at  rest. 


MAUDE  101 


But  beats  against  the  prison  bars, 
As  knowing  its  own  nest 
Far  off  beyond  the  clouded  West. 

My  soul  is  as  a  hidden  fount 

Shut  in  by  clammy  clay, 
That  struggles  with  an  upward  moan; 

Striving  to  force  its  way 
Up  through  the  turf,  over  the  grass, 

Up,  up  into  the  day, 

Where  twilight  no  more  turneth  grey. 

Oh  for  the  grapes  of  the  True  Vine 

Growing  in  Paradise, 
Whose  tendrils  join  the  Tree  of  Life 

To  that  which  maketh  wise. 
Growing  beside  the  Living  Well, 

Whose  sweetest  waters  rise, 

Where    tears    are  wiped  from  tearful 
eyes. 


IO2  MAUDE 


Oh  for  the  waters  of  that  Well 

Round  which  the  Angels  stand; 
Oh  for  the  Shadow  of  the  Rock 

On  my  heart's  weary  land. 
Oh  for  the  Voice  to  guide  me  when 

I  turn  to  either  hand, 

Guiding    me    till    I    reach    Heaven's 
strand. 

Thou  World  from  which  I  am  come  out, 

Keep  all  thy  gems  and  gold; 
Keep  thy  delights  and  precious  things 

Thou  that  art  waxing  old, 
My  heart  shall  beat  with  a  new  life, 

When  thine  is  dead  and  cold; 

When  thou  dost  fear  I  shall  be  bold. 

When  Earth  shall  pass  away  with  all 

Her  pride  and  pomp  of  sin, 
The  City  builded  without  hands 

Shall  safely  shut  me  in. 


MAUDE  103 


All  the  rest  is  but  vanity 
Which  others  strive  to  win: 
Where  their  hopes  end  my  joys  begin. 

I  will  not  look  upon  a  rose, 

Though  it  is  fair  to  see, 
The  flowers  planted  in  Paradise 

Are  budding  now  for  me. 
Red  roses  like  love  visible 

Are  blowing  on  their  tree, 

Or  white  like  virgin  purity. 

I  will  not  look  unto  the  sun 
Which  setteth  night  by  night, 

In  the  untrodden  courts  of  Heaven 
My  crown  shall  be  more  bright. 

So,  in  the  New  Jerusalem, 
Founded  and  built  aright, 
My  very  feet  shall  tread  on  light. 

With  foolish  riches  of  this  world 
I  have  bought  treasure,  where 


IO4  MAUDE 


Naught  perisheth:  for  this  white  veil 

I  gave  my  golden  hair, 
I  gave  the  beauty  of  my  face 

For  vigils,  fasts,  and  prayer; 

I  gave  all  for  this  Cross  I  bear. 

My  heart  trembled  when  first  I  took 

The  vows  which  must  be  kept; 
At  first  it  was  a  weariness 

To  watch  when  once  I  slept. 
The   path   was   rough   and    sharp   with 
thorns; 

My  feet  bled  as  I  stepped; 

The  Cross  was  heavy  and  I  wept. 

While  still  the  names  rang  in  mine  ears 

Of  daughter,  sister,  wife, 
The  outside  world  still  looked  so  fair 

To  my  weak  eyes  and  rife 
With  beauty,  my  heart  almost  failed; 

Then  in  the  desperate  strife 

I  prayed,  as  one  who  prays  for  life, 


MAUDE  105 


Until  I  grew  to  love  what  once 

Had  been  so  burdensome. 
So  now  when  I  am  faint,  because 

Hope  deferred  seems  to  numb 
My  heart,  I  yet  can  plead;  and  say 

Although  my  lips  are  dumb: 
"  The  Spirit  and  the  Bride  say,  Come." 


106  MAUDE 


III 

THREE  weeks  had  passed 
away.  A  burning  sun 
seemed  baking  the  very 
dust  in  the  streets,  and  sucking  the  last 
remnant  of  moisture  from  the  straw 
spread  in  front  of  Mrs.  Foster's 
house,  when  the  sound  of  a  low, 
muffled  ring  was  heard  in  the  sick 
room;  and  Maude,  now  entirely 
confined  to  her  bed,  raising  herself 
on  one  arm,  looked  eagerly  towards 
the  door;  which  opened  to  admit  a 
servant  with  the  welcome  announce 
ment  that  Agnes  had  arrived. 

After    tea    Mrs.   Foster,    almost 


MAUDE  107 


worn  out  with  fatigue,  went  to  bed; 
leaving  her  daughter  under  the  care 
of  their  guest.  The  first  greetings 
between  the  cousins  had  passed 
sadly  enough.  Agnes  perceived  at  a 
glance  that  Maude  was,  as  her  last 
letter  hinted,  in  a  most  alarming 
state:  while  the  sick  girl,  well  aware 
of  her  condition,  received  her  friend 
with  an  emotion  which  showed  she 
felt  it  might  be  for  the  last  time. 
But  soon  her  spirits  rallied. 

"I  shall  enjoy  our  evening  to 
gether  so  much,  Agnes  "  ;  said  she, 
speaking  now  quite  cheerfully:  "  You 
must  tell  me  all  the  news.  Have 
you  heard  from  Mary  since  your 
last  despatch  to  me? " 

"  Mamma    received  a   letter   this 


io8  MAUDE 


morning  before  I  set  off;  and  she 
sent  it,  hoping  to  amuse  you.  Shall 
I  read  it  aloud  ?  " 

"  No,  let  me  have  it  myself." 
Her  eye  travelled  rapidly  down  the 
well-filled  pages,  comprehending  at  a 
glance  all  the  tale  of  happiness. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Herbert  were  at  Scar 
borough;  they  would  thence  proceed 
to  the  Lakes;  and  thence,  most  prob 
ably,  homewards,  though  a  pro 
longed  tour  was  mentioned  as  just 
possible.  But  both  plans  seemed 
alike  pleasing  to  Mary,  for  she  was 
full  of  her  husband,  and  both  were 
equally  connected  with  him. 

Maude  smiled  as  paragraph  after 
paragraph  enlarged  on  the  same 
topic.  At  last  she  said:  "  Agnes,  if 


MAUDE  109 


you  could  not  be  yourself,  but  must 
become  one  of  us  three:  I  do  n't 
mean  as  to  goodness,  of  course,  but 
merely  as  regards  circumstances, — 
would  you  change  with  Sister  Mag 
dalen,  with  Mary,  or  with  me?  " 

"Not  with  Mary,  certainly. 
Neither  should  I  have  courage  to 
change  with  you;  I  never  should 
bear  pain  so  well:  nor  yet  with  Sis 
ter  Magdalen,  for  I  want  her  fer 
vour  of  devotion.  So  at  present  I 
fear  you  must  even  put  up  with  me 
as  I  am.  Will  that  do?  " 

There  was  a  pause.  A  fresh 
wind  had  sprung  up  and  the  sun  was 
setting. 

At  length  Maude  resumed :  "  Do 
you  recollect  last  Christmas  Eve 


no  MAUDE 


when  I  was  so  wretched,  what  shock 
ing  things  I  said  ?  How  I  rejoice 
that  my  next  Communion  was  not, 
indeed,  delayed  till  sickness  had 
stripped  me  of  temptation  and  sin 
together." 

u  Did  I  say  that  ?  It  was  very 
harsh." 

"  Not  harsh  :  it  was  just  and  right 
as  far  as  it  went,  only  something 
more  was  required.  But  I  never 
told  you  what  altered  me.  The 
truth  is,  for  a  time  I  avoided  as  much 
as  possible  frequenting  our  parish 
church,  for  fear  of  remark.  Mamma, 
knowing  how  I  love  St.  Andrew's,  let 
me  go  there  very  often  by  myself, 
because  the  walk  is  too  long  for  her. 
I  wanted  resolution  to  do  right,  yet 


MAUDE  in 


believe  me  I  was  very  miserable: 
how  I  could  say  my  prayers  at  that 
period  is  a  mystery.  So  matters 
went  on;  till  one  day  as  I  was  re 
turning  from  a  shop,  I  met  Mr. 
Paulson.  He  enquired  immediately 
whether  I  had  been  staying  in  the 
country?  Of  course  I  answered, 
No.  Had  I  been  ill?  again,  No. 
Then  gradually  the  whole  story  came 
out.  I  never  shall  forget  the  shame 
of  my  admissions,  each  word  seemed 
forced  from  me,  yet  at  last  all  was 
told.  I  will  not  repeat  all  we  said 
then,  and  on  a  subsequent  occasion 
when  he  saw  me  at  church,  the  end 
was  that  I  partook  of  the  Holy  Com 
munion  on  Easter  Sunday.  That 
was  indeed  a  feast.  I  felt  as  if  I 


ii2  MAUDE 


never  could  do  wrong  again,  and  yet 
—  well,  after  my  next  impatient  fit,  I 
wrote  this."  Here  she  took  a  paper 
from  the  table :  "  Do  you  care  to 
see  it  ?  I  will  rest  a  little,  for  talk 
ing  is  almost  too  much  for  me.'* 

I  watched  a  rosebud  very  long 

Brought  on  by  dew  and  sun  and  shower, 
Waiting  to  see  the  perfect  flower: 

Then  when  I  thought  it  should  be  strong, 
It  opened  at  the  matin  hour 
And  fell  at  evensong. 

I  watched  a  nest  from  day  to  day, 
A  green  nest,  full  of  pleasant  shade, 
Wherein  three  little  eggs  were  laid: 
But  when   they  should  have  hatched  in 

May, 

The  two  old  birds  had  grown  afraid, 
Or  tired,  and  flew  away. 


MAUDE  113 


Then  in  my  wrath  I  broke  the  bough 
That  I  had  tended  with  such  care, 
Hoping  its  scent  should  fill  the  air: 

I  crushed  the  eggs,  not  heeding  how 
Their  ancient  promise  had  been  fair:  — 
I  would  have  vengeance  now. 

But  the  dead  branch  spoke  from  the  sod, 
And  the  eggs  answered  me  again: 
Because  we  failed  dost  thou  complain  ? 

Is  thy  wrath  just  ?     And  what  if  God, 
Who  waiteth  for  thy  fruits  in  vain, 
Should  also  take  the  rod? 

"  You  can  keep  it  if  you  like," 
continued  Maude,  when  her  cousin 
had  finished  reading :  "  Only  do  n't 
let  any  one  else  know  why  it  was 
written.  And,  Agnes,  it  would  only 
pain  mamma  to  look  over  everything 
if  I  die  ;  will  you  examine  the  verses, 


H4  MAUDE 


and  destroy  what  I  evidently  never 
intended  to  be  seen.  They  might 
all  be  thrown  away  together,  only 
mamma  is  so  fond  of  them.  What 
will  she  do?"  and  the  poor  girl  hid 
her  face  in  the  pillows. 

"  But  is  there  no  hope,  then?" 
"  Not  the  slightest,  if  you  mean 
of  recovery  ;  and  she  does  not  know 
it.  Do  n't  go  away  when  all  's  over, 
but  do  what  you  can  to  comfort  her. 
I  have  been  her  misery  from  my 
birth,  till  now  there  is  no  time  to  do 
better.  But  you  must  leave  me, 
please;  for  I  feel  completely  ex 
hausted.  Or  stay  one  moment:  I 
saw  Mr.  Paulson  again  this  morning, 
and  he  promised  to  come  to-morrow 
to  administer  the  Blessed  Sacrament 


MAUDE  115 


to  me ;  so  I  count  on  you  and  mamma 
receiving  with  me,  for  the  last  time 
perhaps  :  will  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dear  Maude.  But  you  are 
so  young,  do  n't  give  up  hope.  And 
now  would  you  like  me  to  remain 
here  during  the  night  ?  I  can  es 
tablish  myself  quite  comfortably  on 
your  sofa." 

"Thank  you,  but  it  could  only 
make  me  restless.  Good-night,  my 
own  dear  Agnes." 

"  Good-night,  dear  Maude.  I  trust 
to  rise  early  to-morrow,  that  I  may 
be  with  you  all  the  sooner."  So 
they  parted. 

Agnes  proceeded  to  perform  the 
task  imposed  upon  her,  with  scrupu 
lous  anxiety  to  carry  out  her  friend's 


n6  MAUDE 


wishes.  The  locked  book  she  never 
opened,  but  had  it  placed  on  Maude's 
coffin,  with  all  its  records  of  folly, 
sin,  vanity,  and,  she  humbly  trusted, 
of  true  penitence  also.  She  next 
collected  the  scraps  of  paper  found 
in  her  cousin's  desk  and  portfolio,  or 
lying  loose  upon  the  table,  and  pro 
ceeded  to  examine  them.  Many  of 
these  were  mere  fragments,  many 
half-effaced  pencil  scrawls,  and  some 
written  on  torn  backs  of  letters,  and 
some  full  of  incomprehensible  abbre 
viations.  Agnes  was  astonished  at 
the  variety  of  Maude's  compositions. 
Piece  after  piece  she  committed  to 
the  flames,  fearful  lest  any  should  be 
preserved  which  were  not  intended 
for  general  perusal :  but  it  cost  her  a 


MAUDE  117 


pang  to  do  so ;  and  to  see  how  small 
a  number  remained  for  Mrs.  Foster. 
Of  three  only  she  took  copies  for 
herself.  The  first  was  dated  ten 
days  after  Maude's  accident : 

Sleep,  let  me  sleep,  for  I  am  sick  of 

care; 
Sleep,  let  me  sleep,  for  my  pain  wearies 

me. 
Shut  out  the  light;  thicken  the  heavy 

air 
With    drowsy  incense;   let    a    distant 

stream 

Of  music  lull  me,  languid  as  a  dream 
Soft  as  the  whisper  of  a  Summer  sea. 

Pluck  me  no  rose  that  groweth  on  a 

thorn, 

No  myrtle  white  and  cold  as  snow  in 
June, 


u8  MAUDE 


Fit    for    a  virgin   on   her   marriage 

morn: 
But  bring  me  poppies  brimmed  with 

sleepy  death, 

And  ivy  choking  what  it  garlandeth, 
And  primroses  that  open  to  the  moon. 

Listen,  the  music  swells  into  a  song, 
A  simple  song  I  loved  in  days  of  yore; 

The  echoes  take  it  up  and  up  along 
The  hills,  and  the  wind  blows  it  back 

again:-; — 
Peace,  peace,   there  is  a  memory  in 

that  strain 
Of  happy  days  that  shall  return  no  more. 

Oh  peace,  your  music  wakeneth  old 

thought, 
But  not  old  hope  that  made  my  life  so 

sweet, 
Only  the  longing  that  must  end  in 

naught. 


MAUDE  119 


Have  patience  with  me,  friends,  a  lit 
tle  while: 

For  soon  where  you   shall  dance  and 

sing  and  smile, 

My  quickened  dust  may  blossom  at  your 
feet. 

Sweet  thought  that  I  may  yet  live 

and  grow  green, 
That  leaves   may  yet  spring   from    the 

withered  root, 
And  birds  and  flowers  and  berries 

half  unseen; 

Then  if  you  haply  muse  upon  the  past,. 
Say  this :  Poor  child,  she  hath  her  wish 

at  last; 

Barren  through  life,  but  in  death  bearing 
fruit. 

The  second,  though  written  on 
the  same  paper,  was  evidently  com 
posed  at  a  subsequent  period : 


I2O  MAUDE 


Fade,  tender  lily, 

Fade,  Oh  crimson  rose, 
Fade  every  flower, 

Sweetest  flower  that  blows. 

Go,  chilly  Autumn, 

Come,  Oh  Winter  cold ; 
Let  the  green  stalks  die  away 

Into  common  mould. 

Birth  follows  hard  on  death, 

Life  on  withering. 
Hasten,  we  shall  come  the  sooner 

Back  to  pleasant  Spring. 

The  last  was  a  sonnet,  dated  the 
morning  before  her  death  : 

What  is  it  Jesus  saith  unto  the  soul?  — 
"  Take  up  the  Cross  and  come,  and  fol 
low  Me."' 

This  word  he  saith  to  all;  no  man  may 
be 


MAUDE  121 


Without  the  Cross,  wishing  to  win  the 


Then  take   it  bravely  up,   setting  thy 

whole 

Body  to  bear;  it  will  not  weigh  on  th.ee 
Beyond  thy  utmost  strength:  take  it,  for 

He 
Knoweth  when    thou   art  weak,   and 

will  control 
The  powers  of  darkness  that  thou  needst 

not  fear. 

He  will  be  with  thee,  helping,  strength 
ening, 

Until  it  is  enough:  for  lo,  the  day 
Cometh  when  He  shall  call  thee:  thou 

shall  hear 
His  voice  that  says:   "  Winter  is  past, 

and  Spring 

Is    come;    arise,   My    Love,    and    come 
away." 


122  MAUDE 


Agnes  cut  one  long  tress  from 
Maude's  head ;  and  on  her  return 
home  laid  it  in  the  same  paper  with 
the  lock  of  Magdalen's  hair.  These 
she  treasured  greatly,  and,  gazing  on 
them,  would  long  and  pray  for  the 
hastening  of  that  eternal  morning, 
which  shall  reunite  in  God  those  who 
in  Him,  or  for  His  Sake,  have  parted 
here. 

Amen  for  us  all. 


THE    END. 


PRINTED  FOR  HERBERT  S.  STONE 

AND  CO.  BY  R.  R.  DONNELLEY  AND 

SONS  CO.  AT  THE  LAKESIDE  PRESS 

MDCCCXCVII 


